Book Read Free

Heliopause

Page 2

by Heather Christle


  Where would I go

  The sky is everywhere

  at once like a big movie

  and though I think I know how

  it’s going to end

  and with which music

  there is uncertainty enough

  to hold me still

  It’s an Empire Out There

  I saw you walk

  past the window box

  and brush against

  one flower

  I saw you

  readjust your jacket

  saw you kiss

  Long live

  whatever needs our dying

  Whatever feeds us

  and then

  tells us don’t exist

  Elegy for Neil Armstrong

  And This Too Comes Apart

  People agree with sleep

  They nod into it

  but death they sometimes fight off

  until they can’t

  and then

  from their graves

  they stick out their tongues

  Good for them

  Good for the people

  In the world I can see

  there is one tree still raining

  The sun blares around

  lights it up

  in lines alongside the spiders’

  They have an arrangement

  a private design

  When I’m arranged

  into a mother

  I will name my child

  Incredulity and like it so much

  I’ll do it again

  three or four

  or eight times

  Stand up!

  Good and straight like a tree

  good and stiff like

  the rain-darkened gravestone

  perpendicular

  to the quiet

  Or sit down

  and make a nice lap

  nod Incredulity off into sleep

  Enumerate to her the lines

  of the song you haven’t meant yet

  Hatch

  In every place

  you seem to end

  I have loved you

  There was that small

  and dead and pink

  bird we saw

  near the sidewalk

  with its smashed

  open mouth

  a place to let

  the world in

  a way of not ending

  I loved you so

  I had to crawl inside

  Such and Such a Time at Such and Such a Palace

  The lack of a single-word infinitive

  in our language is what is killing me

  this morning

  A single word for all

  infinitives is what God is doing tonight

  This is just one of many acts

  to have passed through the garden

  Previously on this show they put

  a peacock back together wrong

  after its demise

  Something

  there was in the syntax

  Poor bird could feel it in his bones

  Me and My Head as Pieces of Wood

  Please accept my uselessness

  as a token of other letters

  abacus

  spells an occasional

  way to be feeling

  There are limits

  These are

  my limitations

  I spin around I can’t

  slide back to then

  Flowers Are Also Letters

  Imagine eating

  in one bite

  a rose

  or

  imagine eating

  gold

  manger de l’or

  Do I?

  Do I ever!

  Oe!

  Oi!

  Oeieio!

  Nature Poem

  Yesterday it was marsh marigolds

  by the river with my mother

  and in the afternoon forsythia

  with Chris

  (he dislikes it)

  and today it is grass again

  with ants departing

  or heading

  toward each other to exchange

  an urgent message

  Church bells

  are literally ringing and then

  oh my god the train

  and jesus christ a butterfly

  lovely brown with off-white tips

  and every now and then irregular

  lavender spots

  It’s not necessary

  to write everything down

  When a creature quietly tends

  to itself

  I am happy

  and by extension earlier I thought

  for actually a very long time

  about ants and the impossibility

  of ant masturbation

  They do not love themselves enough

  They only love each other

  They Are Leaving You a Message

  ▪ for Arda Collins

  What they are trying to tell you

  is you are wearing the wrong bra

  for your shape and situation

  This might not even be your life

  and in the midst of my thinking

  to tell you this a fruit fly

  has begun to trail me through the house

  as if I were its mother or as if

  it were the other way around

  and it always is and the house

  is on fire at some point

  in the simultaneity and I am leaving it

  to buy all the things I do

  and do not devour

  Drapes

  They were erecting a conversation

  in the middle of the inconsequential

  afternoon

  like one of those unnatural flowers

  you drop into water and watch

  immediately blossom

  And then then what

  Has anything changed?

  They were emigrating from one wall

  to the other

  like swans of

  ungodly proportions

  They were not so much

  humans as blood drenched with hair

  Uncloudy

  Sitting in the tower munching clover

  with no roof

  with encircled sky

  a dark hole the quick stars infest

  I need these stones to quiet me down

  I need the quiet so nouns can collect

  The clover’s a pulp

  as if I’m making paper

  lifting up linen strips from who else

  but the dead

  And never has this star clutch

  been so silent

  Forever have I darkly thee undressed

  Not Much More Room in the Cemetery

  I will lie down on top of the graves

  It will never feel okay and that is the point

  People beneath and people behind me

  with their faces and their little horns

  and the places from which they are shining

  I know there is something else

  that they have tried to teach me

  and I am sorry for all of the times

  I have listened and not learned it

  No I am not crying

  I’m maybe um a demon

  For certain I am waving this fruit fly away

  As If No Light Could Warm You

  A person in

  a nice dress

  She moves

  into the shape

  the sun makes

  on the floor

  A nice dress

  & it clamors

  A voice says

  I can take it

  She says I

  take it back

  How Long Is the Heliopause

  They say before you know you want

  to move your hand

  your hand

  is already about to move

  They say in advance

  these things


  are decided

  The box of cereal says We’re so happy

  our paths have crossed

  but I do not think

  I am on one

  I think I am in

  a pathless field

  The wind sends seeds abroad

  The most careful engineering

  Still these contrary gardens grow

  They say it is hard to believe

  that when robots are taking pictures

  of Titan’s orange ethane lakes

  poets still insist on writing about their divorces

  This is a poem for my husband

  on the occasion of Voyager

  perhaps having left our solar system

  perhaps about to leave it very soon

  They cannot say

  The message takes so long to drift to reach us

  When the self-driving car wants to move

  it will first say so

  changing lanes

  changing lanes

  changing lanes

  It hesitates it does not know it is lost

  or it has decided on always changing

  I’ve heard the cat who may be alive

  or may be dead should expect

  to live forever

  progressively growing

  sicker and sicker

  This is for my husband

  whom I expect to come home

  some time between now and the future

  Let me date this very clearly

  This is the year after the year

  when people with cable began

  to pile Christmas lights into glass jars

  the year of evidence of chemical warfare

  clear or uncertain

  depending on where you live

  One beast lives one grows sicker and sicker

  One dies one yowls at the door

  Two days from now I will either

  bleed or not bleed

  I will remember

  that four years ago we wed and asked

  for Divine Assistance

  though we neither of us

  pray to any god

  This is for him on the occasion

  of the Olympian’s indictment

  They say he shot

  the one he loved

  Shot the one

  who through a door

  he could not see

  None of this has been right

  but maybe a tiny electrical god

  has cut and spliced us together

  And in this moment yes and in this moment no

  and in this moment all the lights

  go off at once and it is a bomb

  or it is a daughter

  And this great sound replaces the others

  so I can hear nothing but the brightness

  of the field

  where I am waiting for the warm chest

  of my husband

  for its occasion

  and if they say a word now

  it would take years for me to know

  Some Glamorous Country

  In the war’s geometry

  among the many givens

  the spaces of the torn

  away limbs articulate

  what

  What are they

  needed to prove

  On the sidewalk

  I’m watching a full-length

  animation the trees made

  w/technical direction

  from the sun

  We saw Batman at

  a matinee because who

  would bother to shoot

  so few so early in the day

  It is not that my life

  has become interesting

  to me

  It is that

  given the terrified world

  how can I

  & can I resist

  the things I have done

  in my name

  In the Dumps

  Just because we’ve broken my head

  doesn’t mean we must glue it together

  There’s other work to be done

  and dark

  grass freezing

  There is some old light

  to read by and large pink thumbs

  And with my head apart

  I think

  the world can get in easy

  This

  pound of dirt I’m holding weighs a ton

  Pursuits

  It is not that you want

  to be the one to make prints

  in the untrampled snow

  It is that you want

  to be in the snow

  without having touched it

  to be of the snow

  not beginning

  Everywhere commerce

  dictates the shapes

  that move you along

  that seat you at a table

  far from the snow

  far from the act

  of not touching

  It only gets worse

  A girl’s gotta eat

  And your hunger’s

  not even your own

  Aesthetics of Crying

  You meet someone and later you meet

  their dancing

  and you have to start again

  You like cat one

  and you like cat two

  and they do terrible things to each other

  Once to celebrate a bad mood

  we broke all the clean dishes

  There are pictures

  I’d like a portrait

  of an angry horse with his beauty

  and his fuming

  It’s hard to know

  what you look like when you’re mad

  Crying’s easier

  I have cried at times

  for so long that I have moved the activity

  in front of the mirror

  out of curiosity

  The information I gathered there remains

  thus far unused

  but let the record show

  my horrible face

  Keep in Shape

  I only think the snow regards me

  It falls where I stand

  and that’s all

  It doesn’t stay in place when I

  walk on

  They say Jesus wrote

  a little in some dirt that

  blew away

  They say a man

  can piss a short name

  in the snow

  Nice work

  See me after class

  See how

  the weather does not write me

  never phones

  I can’t pretend

  that doesn’t hurt

  but I can

  pretend I’m burning down my home

  Optioned

  Of my days I’m director

  not author

  and neither of us has

  any money

  I was born with a wooden spoon

  in my ass

  Imagine my embarrassment!

  Then go ahead and imagine your own

  What does a house do?

  That’s easy

  It houses

  just as a cloud

  pulls the light from a face

  when someone utters mortgage

  In any other world

  a sweet name

  for a daughter

  beginning as it does

  with a little death

  Annual

  The sky lifted from black into paleness

  while gloom rocked the markets

  gently

  a terrifying dad

  I had intended to have flowers

  delivered

  It was a condition

  I’d suffered before

  On the back road

  you remarked upon the width

  of the stone wall and everyone nodded

  walked slowly away

  Our lives are I think

  coming apart

  There were clouds

 
we could see but not say

  Ecumene

  We are where we are bound for

  where life is still motion and we

  have seen a rabbit seen a river

  seen the rope

  Two times we slept

  in Virginia when mountains gathered

  themselves for the light

  It was pink and then darker

  into a lilac no trouble to like

  All of the time now we have to imagine

  the children of our friends

  Impossible people

  how they go on and how other

  times they end by these trees and

  oh by their shadows

  the dark uncovered places

  of now becoming a then

  Dear Seth

  ▪ for Seth Landman

  Dear Seth

  You have been disappointed

  in love and I am sorry

  that to hope

  for and to imagine love is to possess it

  however briefly

  so that when the picture

  does not come clear one experiences

  not only sadness but loss

  We had an appointment

  These dumb risks of ours these dumb arms

  How aversion is the urge to look away

  I know the general uselessness

  of looking to words for answers

  but on occasion

  the cast spell works

  so we still mutter

  what we can

  We stutter Try

  Dear Seth

  It’s snowing again lightly in Ohio

  like it had an idea and thought

  There’s no harm

  in trying it out

  before growing distracted

  by some town I cannot see

  For you in Massachusetts I hope

  for enough weather

  that the office gives up

  and tells you to stay home

  Do you remember the day we drove

  out to the gorge?

  I could not see

  the difference between the pale sky

  and the ground

  like the snow

  had erased the whole horizon

  It was a good day and I miss you

  I hope you are well

  Dear Seth

  There is fear the baby

  when it arrives will be wrongly

  or poorly loved

  that the world is no place

  for helpless things

  You will see

  reading this through your good beard

  how neatly

 

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